


Ink On A Page

by Hisa_Ai



Series: For Cold December Nights [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisa_Ai/pseuds/Hisa_Ai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scratching those same words he couldn't say aloud onto stray pieces of parchment when he found himself with spare moments in between tasks and chores... well, that was easy, wasn't it? They weren't really words then, they were just ink, just strokes on parchment that didn't really matter or mean anything. It wasn't real when he wrote it down, it just... was. His feelings weren't real, weren't even his own, they belonged to someone else entirely, they just happened to be borrowing his handwriting. It was easier, just to scribble them down and pretend they weren't real words or real feelings or real confessions for a real person he didn't think he could ever really have.</p>
<p>"Merlin," Arthur began suddenly, his voice curious and wondering as he said his name, moving towards Merlin with his sword lowered. "What are you writing?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink On A Page

**Author's Note:**

> **This was inspired by the part in Vanessa Carlton's _Fools Like Me_ , that goes like:**   
>    
>  _But it's ink on a page,_   
>  _Just ink on a page._

* * *

 

  
*

  
Telling Arthur how Merlin felt about him wasn't a realistic thought, wasn't an  _actual_  possibility, as far as Merlin was concerned. Words were words and once said they couldn't be  _un_ said, couldn't be unheard or taken back. If Merlin told Arthur how he felt, he couldn't take it back no matter how  _badly_  he might have wanted to. No matter what it did to their relationship, or how Arthur reacted, Merlin wouldn't be able to take them back. And that was an absolutely terrifying thought. Even considering all manner of beast and enemy that Merlin had  _ever_  faced, nothing had ever seemed quite as terrifying before.

  
But scratching those same words he couldn't say aloud onto stray pieces of parchment when he found himself with spare moments in between tasks and chores... well, that was  _easy_ , wasn't it? They weren't  _really_  words then, they were just ink, just strokes on parchment that didn't really matter or mean anything. It wasn't real when he wrote it down, it just...  _was_. His feelings weren't real, weren't even his own, they belonged to someone else entirely, they just happened to be borrowing his handwriting. It was easier, just to scribble them down and pretend they weren't real words or real feelings or real confessions for a real person he didn't think he could ever really have.

  
Forgetting that those words on scrap parchment were real, however, was probably where he went  _wrong_. When he refused to acknowledge how real it was, he started leaving the parchment laying about, forgetful that the words actually  _did_  mean something, that they  _were words_  and more than just strokes and ink on parchment that could be disposed of easily. Words were words no matter spoken or written, and they held the same weight and meaning regardless.

  
He'd forgotten that all too easily.

  
In his forgetfulness, the words _I'd die for you_  were left in the library,  _I need you_  left in spell books,  _I love you_  left on Arthur's desk, and other such sentiments left scattered about the castle wherever and whenever Merlin found himself left alone with quill and parchment, which happened often enough, considering how many of Arthur's speeches and schedules he found himself writing.

  
But Merlin didn't notice it, really, didn't take mind when he scribbled out his burning passion for Arthur in the armory or the kitchen, around camp fires and outside while Arthur was training with the knights. They were only just words, after all, what mind did they need?

  
One such day when he was scribbling away at Arthur's desk to work out the king's schedule for the following day while Arthur checked over his sword, absently slicing through the air a few times, his mind soon began to wander, hand found a stray piece of parchment that he wasn't currently writing away on, tongue between his teeth in thought as the words  _I love you I love you I love you_ stained the parchment all too easily and with no thought at all to the fact that Arthur was standing _right there._  It was just ink, after all, who cared how close Arthur might have been to Merlin while he scribbled it out?

  
It was just ink.

  
"Merlin," Arthur began suddenly, his voice curious and wondering as he said his name, moving towards Merlin with his sword lowered. "What are you writing?"

  
"Oh," Merlin mumbled in surprise to himself, looking up from the non-words he had scrawled with a slight blush on his face. What was he writing  _indeed_. "Uhm. Nothing, sire, just... your itinerary for tomorrow," he shrugged, offering Arthur a smile he hoped would help ease Arthur's curiosities enough so he left Merlin in peace with his words that were not really words.

  
"Can I see it?" Arthur asked, setting his sword down on his bed before he came closer to Merlin at the desk, held his hand out for the parchment.

  
Merlin's stomach dropped, of course, the  _one_  time Arthur took an interest in what his day was to look like before it was the day in question was the  _one_  time Merlin very desperately didn't want him to see just what he was doing, because he  _definitely_  wasn't working on it. The prat.

  
"Why would you want to see it?" Merlin asked, tone too nervous as he glanced down to the non-words. They weren't really words, of course, but if Arthur got his hands on them, set his eyes on them... well, then they might be  _almost_  words, at the very least, which was much too close to being  _real_  words for Merlin's taste.

  
"So I can know what my day looks like tomorrow," he replied, wiggling his fingers for the parchment to be placed in his palm already.

  
With Arthur's eyes on him like that, so intent and focused and waiting, Merlin knew he wasn't going to be able to get away with swapping the parchment for Arthur's  _real_  itinerary, or use his magic to change what this one said... God, he was going to have to  _actually_  hand Arthur this parchment and this ink and these non-words that would cease to be non-words the second Arthur read them.

  
And then everything was going to be  _different_  and Merlin would probably be out of the job and out a best friend, and that was going to be absolutely dreadful; Merlin didn't think his heart had ever been so broken or so stubbornly insistent that it beat so rapidly at once before in his life.

  
He swallowed and picked up the parchment, held it out towards Arthur with downcast eyes that fell shut the moment he felt it taken from his hand. Head still down, he reached for the real itinerary to try to finish it before he was made to exit Arthur's chambers for the last time. Perhaps if he pretended that it wasn't a big deal, that Arthur read those words all the time, all would be fine and nothing would be weird or change.

  
"This isn't my itinerary," Arthur said, his tone unreadable.

  
Merlin shook his head, hand not moving to finish the real one despite his intentions. Unable to help himself, he looked up to Arthur, needing to see the look on his face, needing to know what that tone  _meant_ , because Gods, he couldn't tell and it would be the absolute death of him if he couldn't find out what was going on inside Arthur's head.

  
"It's not," Merlin agreed, eyes finding Arthur's despite himself.

  
"What is it?" Arthur asked, voice almost a whisper, his question as unreal as Merlin had always thought those scribbled words to be.

  
"It's... ink."

  
"Oh?"

  
"Yeah."

  
Arthur shot Merlin a stern look then, rather unimpressed with his response. Merlin was being completely uncooperative and he knew it—Gods, it must have been frustrating, seeing those words and not getting  _any_  explanation to accompany them.

  
"And what does the ink  _say_?" Arthur asked, eyes flitting from Merlin to the  _ink_ and back again.

  
"Um," Merlin swallowed, God, the prat  _would_  go there,  _would_  make Merlin say it, make him make the words real and not just ink, wouldn't he? "It says...  _I love you_ ," he replied at last, holding Arthur's gaze rather than turn away like every part of him so desperately wanted to do. Those words were  _more_  than just  _real_  somehow when he had to look directly at Arthur as he said them, he realized just then.

  
Gods, what had he just done?

  
Arthur's expression was surprised but not shocked as he did whatever it  _was_ he had just done, which Merlin thought was  _completely_  unfair; if Merlin was going to go around admitting to things like that, Arthur could at least have the decency to be shocked by it. Why wasn't he  _shocked_  damnit?

  
"Is it..." Arthur licked his lips, threw his eyes down as a softer sort of look came over his face that only proved to confuse Merlin all the more. "Is it more than just ink? Do you  _mean it_?"

  
Merlin blinked for a long moment, the shock that Arthur should have been feeling fighting its way through Merlin instead.

  
"What?" he asked, cocking his head in confusion.

  
Arthur looked back up to Merlin with conviction in his eyes, and suddenly walked around his desk so he was standing just behind where Merlin was sitting. His fingers passed carefully, absently over Merlin's neck and shoulder as he leaned down slightly, parchment still in his other hand as Merlin wondered over just what he could possibly be doing.

  
His wondering ceased when Arthur pulled open one of his drawers, and let the parchment fall into it before he took a step back, nodded for Merlin to look into the drawer.

  
Curiously, Merlin let the quill fall from his grasp and leaned over to look in, and found his breath catching in his throat at just what he saw there. Every single piece of scrap parchment that he'd ever scribbled those damned non-words and sentiments onto, those words that were only ink and not words, were all collected in this damned drawer somehow. With the knowledge that Arthur's eyes had passed over all of that ink, Merlin realized that they had  _never_  been just ink, they had  _always_  been words, had always held weight to them, had always had meaning and had been real. God, how could he have been so careless?

  
"Do you mean it? Any of it?" Arthur asked after a long, quiet moment, something about his tone a bit different than what Merlin had been expecting.

  
He looked up from the drawer, from the non-words that  _were_  words after all, and stood up suddenly, leveled Arthur with a too serious expression.

  
"I do. Gods, of course I do, I just... where did you get these? How did you—?"

  
The rest of his question was cut off all too suddenly as Arthur surged forward to kiss him without warning, his lips rough and fierce as they pressed against Merlin's for the first time, teeth clattering together for a brief moment that took Merlin off guard, the shock of it racing down his spine. After that quick moment, however, the kiss melted into something gentler, sweeter, Arthur's apology for the first kiss spelled out with a softer press of lips and hands that found their way to Merlin's hip and neck, fingers ghosting over his clothed skin as his own hands made their way comfortably and easily to Arthur's body, pulled him against his body.

  
After several long moments and kisses that spanned on for eternity as pleasure and confusion battled in a hazy mess in his already muddled mind, Merlin left Arthur with one last short, sweet kiss before he pulled back, blinked the desire out of his eyes as he took in Arthur's own hazy, blissful expression. Gods, he wasn't sure what was more unbelievable, the fact that Arthur had kissed him, or the fact that Merlin had pulled  _away_  from his kisses. One of them was clearly out of their minds, and Merlin wasn't entirely sure who it was.

  
"Where did you get those?" Merlin asked again, breathless as he threw a look down to the drawer in question once again.

  
"Everywhere you left them. You left one on my desk once, you know, and after that... I noticed you were leaving pieces of parchment everywhere you had a quill with you, so I... started picking them up, going around after you when I knew you'd spent time in the armory or library or wherever, just to see what else you were writing down, just to see what else you wouldn't say to me, and, well, I didn't know what else to do with them so I kept them. I couldn't just get rid of them, knowing you might never actually say any of it to me. And, uhm, knowing that I felt the same—knowing that I  _feel_  the same, that I... love you too, I... had to keep them close, close to where  _both_  of us spend a good deal of time; the desk worked perfectly since you never actually go into the drawers or anything," Arthur admitted with a small smile and half a shrug.

  
Merlin nodded slowly, heart swelling and thudding at once. He didn't know what to say to that, didn't know whether to call Arthur an idiot or himself one or both of them or if he should let those words that weren't words but  _were_  words fall hurriedly and carelessly from his mouth just then as they wanted to, or if he should say something new, something Arthur didn't already know, hadn't already read.

  
Indecisive as he was just then, Merlin settled for leaning back in to finish the kiss he'd so thoughtlessly broken the first time, sure that there would be time for more of that much later, time to make more admissions of his own, and coax them out of Arthur in turn...

_  
After_  he finished kissing him.

  
*

 

* * *

 


End file.
